Lesson Learned
by corneroffandom
Summary: With Memo Montenegro now in WWE, Alberto Del Rio has both his brother and his best friend, Ricardo Rodriguez, by his side. What more could a man ask for? Well...


Ricardo Rodriguez is fast asleep one morning when it begins. Alberto Del Rio's excited voice on a cell phone in the hotel bathroom wakes him up, his eyes fluttering open slowly as he stares bemusedly at the clock. It's barely 6 AM and they'd been traveling through the night to get to the next arena for the evening's events, so he thinks perhaps he had gotten a total three hours of sleep. Not that it's anything new, really, sleep deprivation just another part of the WWE lifestyle, but...

Before finally collapsing into bed, Alberto had sounded pretty certain that they'd be sleeping in this morning, nothing planned until they had to leave for the show close to noon, and so he's confused what exactly has his employer up and on his cell phone at such a ridiculous hour. He sits up with a sigh and a yawn, running his fingers through his hair and down his face, trying to look more aware as Alberto finally exchanges farewells with whoever's on the other end of the call and leaves the bathroom, seeming surprised to find Ricardo awake. "Did I wake you? Lo siento," he says cheerfully, placing the phone on the bedside table. "I suppose I was talking a little loud."

"It's fine," he murmurs. He's tempted to ask who exactly Del Rio was talking to but doesn't want to ruin his friend's mood by scraping for information on something that may not be any of his business, choosing instead to lean back against his pillows and look out of the window as Alberto pads around on the plush hotel carpeting, murmuring to himself as he finds his phone charger where Ricardo had placed it the night before at the outlet, expecting his need of it come morning.

"I'll need a new phone," he tells him. "The battery keeps losing charge quickly, I barely made it through that call."

"Si, of course. I will purchase one before we leave for the arena." Now that he's up so early, he figures it wouldn't hurt to just start his day, pulling himself reluctantly from the warm, comfortable bedding. "Is there anything else you'll need?"

He shakes his head. "No, Ricardo." Sitting back on the edge of his bed, he turns to look back at Ricardo, a small smirk on his lips. "Are you not curious who I was talking to?"

"I imagine if it was something you wanted me to know, El Patron, you would've told me," he says carefully, pausing while digging through his bag for what he'll need for the day.

"Si, well... I _do_ want you to know." His smirk turns into a proud grin, dimples showing as he spreads his arms out, eyes twinkling. "My brother, Memo, has been signed to FCW! He will be starting shortly. It is a good day for the Del Rio name."

Ricardo nods, his lips twitching up as he takes in Alberto's pure happiness over his brother's success. "Congratulations to you all, El Patron."

"Gracias... gracias. Once he is called up, WWE will stand no chance against us," he announces thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course," Ricardo says, nodding confidentally at his employer. Once he feels like he can safely slip away and begin to prepare for the day without offending Alberto, he slips into the bathroom and drops his clothes onto the counter. Despite Alberto's pleasure, Ricardo has a nagging feeling about this brother he had barely heard of before now. He's just not sure _why..._

Time passes and though he hears a little bit about Memo here and there, nothing really substantial comes of it for awhile, just that the younger man is in developmental, slowly learning the way of the WWE, how best he can fit in in the business and be beneficial to the company when they decide to call him up to the main roster, as Alberto had foretold. The first time they come face to face, they're outside of the general manager's office, Alberto and Ricardo talking lowly in Spanish about his latest match when a throat is cleared roughly behind them.

Alberto curses in Spanish, turning to lecture whoever is rude enough to interrupt them, when a sudden change comes over his expression, his grin as large as if he'd just won the World title. Ricardo marvels at this a moment before turning to look, recognizing the man he'd only seen in pictures online and in Del Rio's phone almost immediately. "Memo!" the Mexican aristocrat exclaims, drawing his brother into a warm hug. "Why did you not tell me?" he laughs, pulling back and clapping him on the arm. So enthused by his brother's appearance, he doesn't notice the look of distaste thrown Ricardo's way from the younger man. He doesn't react, keeping his face blank despite the shiver of uncertainty that moves down his spine.

"Hermano," he smiles. "I wished to surprise you. Are you pleased?"

"Of course I am!" Alberto turns towards Ricardo, grin still brilliant across his tanned face. "Ricardo, this as you probably guessed is mi hermanito, Memo Montenegro. Memo, this is mi amigo y_ cuadrilátero locutor, _Ricardo Rodriguez."

Ricardo inclines his head respectfully. "Hola, buenas tardes... encantado de conocerte."

"Hola," Memo responds drily, turning immediately back to his brother. "Hermano, can we go elsewhere to talk?"

"Si, of course. Come, Ricardo," he adds as an aside to the younger man who once more notes as an angry look- similar and yet so different from Alberto's- crosses Memo's pale face as the three of them walk to a more secluded area of the arena.

Memo's responses towards the ring announcer do not change through the weeks- he begins accompanying Alberto and Ricardo to the ring, discreetly making it seem like he'd been the one to distract, trip up or just otherwise annoy the Mexican aristocrat's opponents instead of Ricardo, gleefully taking all of the credit and praise himself whenever Alberto would be in a good enough mood to acknowledge the assistance. Even when he becomes embroiled in a vague feud with Zack Ryder and has a series of matches with the man, keeping him from Del Rio's side _as_ much, Memo still finds small ways to darken Ricardo's days, be it vague comments here and there whenever they run into each other, or just subtle disdain in his gaze whenever he's in his brother's presence.

It all comes to a head one day, Ricardo watching on in confusion as Alberto huffs upon finding his scarf looking wrinkled and shaking it at him angrily. "What is this?!" Startled, the younger man takes it from him, lips parting in surprise. "I expect my clothes to look perfect before I go out to my matches, you know this, idiota," he snaps, turning in a huff to check on the rest of his things.

Barely noticing the insult, Ricardo examines the clothes with narrowed eyes. He knows he had ironed it perfectly less than an hour earlier. Suspecting who exactly is behind this, he swallows down his shame and disgust with the situation, barely blinking as Alberto pushes past him and slams into the bathroom to finish preparing for his match. He takes the time to once more iron the item, relieved when it comes out looking better than it had the first time around.

Either way, Del Rio appears appeased slightly when he finds it still warm and as flawless as ever, eyeing Ricardo quietly as he holds it for him, waiting patiently while he adjusts his wrist bands and stretches before the match. Once he's done, he waits until Ricardo drapes it carefully around his shoulders, mumbling a quick _gracias_ before leaving the locker room to get into his fancy car of the evening.

Ricardo releases a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tries to steady himself, forget what had just happened. _Memo_, he thinks viciously before centering himself, making his way to ringside to complete his announcing duties. A quick match against Primo Colon and Del Rio comes out the victor, Ricardo announcing him the winner as he joins him in the ring, holding his wrist up, full of pride in the fact that he's alongside such a successful man.

Once they're backstage, all happy thoughts leave him, his temper once more rising as he re-enters Alberto's locker room and recalls what had happened earlier, who had to have been behind it. He sighs, shaking his head, and busies himself preparing to leave while Alberto goes to shower off. He has his back to the door, organizing the ring gear and street clothes within, making sure that everything is there, when it clicks shut. He looks up, about to say something to Alberto, when, upon finding it to _not_ be his boss, his eyes widen and he drops the clothes. "What are you doing?" he demands, moving away from the suitcase and approaching an angry looking Memo. "It _was_ you, wasn't it?" He hisses out curses in Spanish, glowering at his employer's brother. "Why would you do that?"

The slightly younger man doesn't bother answering, sauntering closer to Ricardo as he sneers at him. That old feeling of dread that he'd felt at their very first meeting itches along Ricardo's spine as he backs up, fists held between them in defense as Memo corners him, his sneer turning colder and more calculating with each step.

Feeling much better now that he's clean and wrapped up in fresh clothes, Alberto makes his way back to his locker room, outright ignoring or sneering at the few people he passes on his way. He's just made it to the room when he hears something crash, the door rattling with impact from whatever's going on inside. His eyes widening slightly, he forces the door open and peers around it, freezing as he realizes just _what_ is happening: Memo standing tall over a downed Ricardo, his shoulders tight with tension. As he watches, Memo spits out insults in Spanish and kicks him roughly, causing him to curl in on himself further as he groans with pain.

This sound more than anything wakes Alberto up and he's across the room in two steps, pushing Memo away from the ring announcer and yelling in his face, taking in how his dark eyes widen in fear as he focuses on his brother. "What do you think you are doing?!" he snarls, slamming him back first against the wall. "Fool!" At another panted groan from the man struggling behind him, he turns quickly and kneels down by Ricardo, resting a hand on his trembling shoulder. "What has he done?"

"El Patron," he pants through gritted teeth, scrabbling to move the arm he'd landed awkwardly on when Memo had slammed him against the now cracked table to his side. "I can't... I can..." Alberto holds him steady, keeping him from moving. "My shoulder, I think-"

Alberto barely needs to look to know, guessing just by how Ricardo is unable to move it. One look confirms it is dislocated and perhaps worse hidden beneath the tux, his lips held in a thin line as he glowers once more over his shoulder at his brother. "Coward!" he snarls at him, watching as he simply blinks at the insult. Del Rio shakes his head, his eyes dark and angry while he keeps Ricardo still, murmuring to him softly. "What _happened?" _he finally asks the younger man.

Ricardo's strained breathing is painful to listen to, so Alberto is almost relieved when he begins to talk, even though that's not much better, his voice faint and trembling from the pain. "Your brother- I do not know, he hasn't liked me from the start, El Patron." He tries to shift, using his good hand to push at Alberto's hand. "I can't stay like this, I need- I need off of this arm, por favor, por favor..."

Despite his reluctance, Del Rio assists him in sitting up and scooting back, leaning against the couch just to the side of the table that Memo had slammed him against, unable to keep his eyes from scanning the uneven line of Ricardo's shoulders, feeling horrid."Then what?" he asks softly.

"I didn't think much of it at first," he confesses, eyes closed against the nauseating agony coursing down his arm to fingertips. "Just thought he... he didn't like me, which is fine. I'm accustomed to such things... and, even though I hated it, let it slide whenever he would take the credit for things I'd done." Realizing how this might sound, he pushes on, breathing growing more labored with each passing recollection. "Earlier, the scarf," he whispers. "I had it ready and perfect for you. It wasn't... wasn't wrinkled in the slightest, I'd gone over it twice to make sure it was satisfactory, as always. But then I remembered I had yet to see what catering had, if any of it would be to your liking... when I returned, the scarf was wrinkled."

Alberto's eyes narrow as he looks from Ricardo over to his brother, knowing that the likelihood of Ricardo lying to him about this, especially after what he'd walked in on, is slim to nil. "Is that so?" Memo looks like he wants to slip from the room but Alberto barks his name, stopping him mid-step. "Stay where you are, I am far from done with you."

Ricardo is pale, his breathing loud and raspy in Alberto's ears and he frowns, knowing that he needs to get a trainer but unwilling to leave the ring announcer alone. He _could_ ask Memo to go, and in a perfect world, he would easily be able to, but... considering everything, he wouldn't put it past him to just dash out of the building, not even going near the trainer's office. He looks over his shoulder and stands, finding a group of wrestlers clustered around the door, peering inside and whispering. "Idiotas! Get a trainer!"

The crowd disperses after a bit of a scuffle and Alberto glares at those remaining, pointing to his angry looking brother. "Keep an eye on him," he snaps at them. "Keep him from leaving this room." Having done all he could, he kneels back down by Ricardo and runs his hand over his clammy forehead, tsking softly when Ricardo looks up at him, his eyes dull and hazy with pain. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

Shaking, he reaches out with his good arm and grazes Alberto's sleeve, eyes locking on Memo over his shoulder. "I-... I..."

Not liking having his back to his brother while unsure about his state of mind, Alberto shifts and sits down next to Ricardo on his uninjured side, wrapping an arm loosely around his back, the only way he could think to try to comfort him and not to put pressure on his broken shoulder. This way he could also keep an eye on the younger man, scowling up at him as Memo looks from the two men on the ground over to the door and back, obviously desperate for a way out and not finding one. Del Rio can't help but think if it'd been anyone else, in any other situation, he'd find it nearly hilarious, but with it being his brother and closest friend, well...

Ricardo winces and turns gingerly to look at him, eyes full of fear and pain. "El Patron."

"Si?"

"Lo siento," he sighs. "I..."

Alberto cuts him off, shaking his head in anger. "_You _do not owe me an apology, Ricardo." His dark eyes are locked on Memo, promising bad things ahead as his brother looks away, appearing almost as pale as the ring announcer. "If anything, I should apologize to you. This is a shameful day for the Del Rio name."

Ricardo looks startled, then hisses when he shifts wrong, his arm spasming in pain. "It's not your fault," he manages to spit out, closing his eyes.

"Si, it is. I did not see the signs before my very nose. I underestimated his temper, his recklessness. Si, si..." Alberto drifts off, staring at Ricardo. "Will you forgive me, Ricardo?"

"Nothing to forgive, El Patron," he murmurs, leaning against Del Rio more thoroughly.

When a trainer pushes into the room a minute later, the Mexican aristocrat is relieved, quickly helping Ricardo to sit up straighter so he can make it to his feet without jostling the younger man, grabbing Memo by the collar once he's left the ring announcer in the trainer's care, dragging him closer. "You listen to me, idiota," he hisses to him. "Papa and Uncle will learn of this. Between the three of us, I am sure we can think up some _very_ imaginative ways for you to pay restitution to Ricardo for your actions." Ignoring his pale brother's sputterings, he looks down at his ring announcer as the trainer murmurs over him, carefully examining his shoulder with a grim look on his face. "If he feels up to it, perhaps we will confer with Ricardo as to what you will have to do..." He grins viciously and pushes Memo away, completely done with his brother in this moment, sneering as he stumbles away. "Get out of here now."

He immediately begins glaring over at Ricardo and it takes another barked command from Alberto, in biting Spanish, for the younger man to finally realize his presence is not needed nor wanted here. Glancing at his brother, he swallows before scrambling from the room, just avoiding Alberto's angered swipe.

Taking a deep breath, the Destined One wipes a hand across his face, through his hair, before turning back to kneel by Ricardo, staring distrustingly at the trainer. "How is he?"

"Looks like a cracked collar bone, maybe more. I'd like him to go to the hospital, get more thoroughly examined ASAP." The trainer runs his fingers over Ricardo's skull, shaking his head. "No visible head injuries." He runs a light across Ricardo's eyes, sighing. "It looks like he's going into shock, probably from the pain." He turns to Alberto. "While I wait for a bus to come to transport him, what did you see?"

Alberto's face tightening in disgust, he recounts the noise that'd pushed him to hurry into the room, how he'd seen Ricardo down near the splintered table with Memo standing over him, kicking him roughly in the side. He is somewhat encouraged at the care being provided here when the trainer leans closer and runs a hand along Ricardo's ribcage, nodding. "Cracked rib, maybe two," he murmurs, looking up as Ricardo shudders at his touch. Del Rio winces along with him, resting a steadying hand on his knee, not knowing where else to touch that won't hurt him. He mutters softly in Spanish to comfort him further as they sit there, the trainer continuing a base examination just to make sure they'd not miss anything since they only had some of the story.

Thankfully the EMTs arrive quickly after that, careful as they transport Ricardo under both Alberto and the trainer's close watch. Alberto demands to be let into the back, waving off their asking if he's a relative. "I'm his employer," he snaps. "And he was injured under my watch. Now move." Not wanting to argue, the EMTs step back as he steps in next to Ricardo's stretcher, almost relieved to see the younger man dozing off in the back. He makes the mistake of glancing out towards the trainer as they shut the ambulance doors just to find Memo lurking nearby, a disgusted look on his face. He glares back at his little brother but says nothing, turning his focus back to Ricardo.

The ER is busy, only growing more so with their arrival, but they quickly find a room for the still unresponsive ring announcer, Alberto told to wait outside of the room while they examine him. He paces around the waiting room, running his fingers through his hair and frowning up at the TV as newscasters drone on about this and that, life seeming to continue on despite how fractured everything feels to him. His once sweet, innocent little brother capable of needlessly injuring his closest friend... for what purpose? Jealousy? He shakes his head, still unable to wrap his mind around it. He had thought he'd had everything with his brother and ring announcer working side by side with him to attain all of their individual destinies in this business, but he had been foolish, naive. And Ricardo had paid for it.

When he's finally allowed in to see the younger man a few hours later, his shoulder has been popped back into place, his collar bone surgically repaired, and he's been moved to what will be his home for the duration of his hospital stay. Recovery will take time, the nurse explains with an attempt at a comforting smile when he asks, but Ricardo is young and strong and should be ready to be released in a day or two. He sits next to Ricardo's bed and rests a hand on his good arm, wondering what they will do then. How he can keep him safe from his brother then. Unable to avoid it any longer, he pulls his phone out and dials the long familiar number. "Papa, we need to talk..."

Ricardo awakens to strange, yet familiar, voices surrounding him, and a burning kind of pain in one arm, down one side. He groans, his eyes fluttering, and the voices fade away as someone shifts nearby, a hand resting on the arm opposite of all of this pain. He turns towards it, recognizing the touch. "El Patron," he breathes out.

"Well, it is about time, Ricardo." There is a teasing lilt in Alberto's voice, his touch soothing away the confusion that the groggy ring announcer is feeling. "I was thinking you were going to completely miss your guests."

He licks his lips, trying and failing to open his eyes when a straw is pressed to his mouth, Ricardo automatically parting his lips enough to drink, slowly pulling at the straw. He's too out of it to even do that properly, only getting a little bit of drink now and again. But it helps, some of his thirst fading away by the time the straw disappears. The cool liquid had also helped wake him up some and he blinks his eyes open, wincing at the sunlight gleaming in through the drapes. Someone must draw them because the next time he tries, it's much easier. "Guests?" he repeats, finally catching sight of his employer. "Who...?" Alberto leans back so Ricardo can see around him, smiling as the younger man gapes. "Eh... M- Mil Mascaras?" Sensing a third presence in the room, he shifts slightly, his eyes only widening even more. "Do- Dos Caras." He flushes deeply, startled at the well-known Mexican wrestlers in his hospital room. "I... I..."

He looks helplessly over at Alberto, who finally takes pity on him and scoots closer once more. "Papa and Uncle are here to discuss what should be done with Memo." He nods as the younger man pales at the name, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It is disgraceful to the family name, his attacking you in such a way, and we have decided that your input would be valuable. Ricardo, what do you believe should be done to punish him? And so you are aware, we have agreed that this will be _your_ choice. You are the one hurt, and you will be the one to decide. We will not try to influence you or change your mind, on our name's honor."

Ricardo is feeling tired already but fights it off, still shocked that the Hall of Famer and his employer's father are standing only feet away, watching him expectantly. He's not sure what to say, but there is one truth, one thing that he has to say that trumps everything else, thinking that he understands what Alberto is alluding to with the last few sentences he's spoken. "I do not wish to bring more disgrace to your family, El Patron," he finally says, powering through despite how weak he feels and must sound, "so I will not press charges or go after him in civil court. This will remain between all of us." This seems to be the correct answer as all three men before him immediately relax, Alberto squeezing his shoulder happily.

When Alberto moves aside, Ricardo blinks, startled, as Dos Caras takes his place, smiling faintly at the young man. "Gracias, Ricardo," he says, his voice and thick accent so similar to Alberto's that it takes him a moment to realize that, yes, the legendary Mexican competitor is indeed talking to _him._

His flush only grows when Mil Mascaras shifts closer, also smiling good-naturedly at the ring announcer. "You have always been loyal to the family, your dedication to my nephew impressive. We all know he is not the easiest to get along with," he says, ignoring the slightly annoyed look on the Mexican aristocrat's face, and Ricardo glances uncertainly from man to man, remembering an interview the uncle had in one of the non-WWE sanctioned wrestling magazines almost a year ago about how his nephew needed to change his ways. It appears the tension had not dissolved in the time that has passed since then, but... "Anyway, we still have things to decide. Such as, how Memo will be punished for this." Alberto and Dos Caras both look like they have suggestions but Mil holds a hand up to stop them, his eyes on Ricardo. "It should be your decision, Ricardo. What do you think?"

Still floored by one of his childhood idols talking to _him,_ he stares up at the three men waiting for his decision and licks his lips, uncertain. "I... I'm not sure," he hedges, not wanting to go too far and punish Alberto's brother unfairly, but he's also not sure what's too little of a punishment. After all, being punished, in a perfect world, should make the younger man learn to better pick his battles and control his temper... He shifts, a sudden, agonizing pain shooting up his elbow to his neck and he knows with a rush what he has to do, despite how badly he hates it. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he watches as Alberto slips out into the hallway, both Dos Caras and Mil looking down at him worriedly.

A nurse follows the former WWE champion in, needle at the ready, and she takes a quick glance at Ricardo's file before injecting much needed pain medicine into his IV, the relief almost immediate as he takes a breath, closing his eyes. "He should be alright now," she tells the other men, smiling as she checks his vitals. "He'll probably sleep for awhile. Call if you need anything, I'll be back a little later with his dinner menu."

"Maybe hospital food should be part of Memo's punishment," he mumbles, starting to feel the effects of the drugs. He struggles to keep his eyes open long enough to say what he's thinking but slowly loses hold, sighing. "I think, though, since I can't... fulfill my duties to El Patron properly while I recover, perhaps Memo should."

The men sitting by his bed all exchange glances and Alberto sneers at the thought, shaking his head almost immediately as Ricardo finally gives in to rest, his body demanding it to recover. "It is alright," he hears faintly, turning carefully towards his El Patron's voice. "We'll discuss this some more; when you wake up, we'll get your opinion on our decision."

He's not sure how long he's unconscious but when his eyes slowly flutter open, the room is dark, quiet. Both Dos Caras and Mil Mascaras are gone, but Alberto remains, sleeping in an uncomfortable position in a nearby chair. Ricardo watches him for a moment, blinking tiredly, ultimately deciding to let him rest, knowing that his employer probably needs it as much as he does right now.

Despite his attitude in the ring and on TV, Alberto becomes a different person once he's in the comfort of his own home, or at least away from television cameras. Ricardo had long ago accepted it, understanding on some level Del Rio's need to prove himself in the foreign country so different from Mexico, and thus had never taken all of Alberto's actions or insults personally. He had not had an easy road here in America, and Ricardo knows it would make anyone irritable, ready to lash out at anyone nearby. Just so happened that that usually was _him_,and he was alright with that, no matter how bad it would get sometimes.

He moves slightly and hisses out a muffled moan when his shoulder shifts painfully, eyes widening when Alberto awakens to this, looking directly at him. "Ricardo? Are you alright?" he asks tiredly, leaning forward. "Do you need more medicine?"

"N- no," he murmurs. "I just moved a little too much, El Patron. I am ok." They stare at each other for awhile, Del Rio's eyes reflecting worry, until finally Ricardo remembers the discussion that had been going on when he'd fallen asleep once more. "Eh... El Patron, what was decided about Memo?"

The smile that passes across the older Mexican's face is a little demented, Ricardo staring on in conflicted wonder as Alberto moves away from the chair and settles down next to Ricardo on the bed, crossing his knee so as to sit sideways, facing his ring announcer. "Si, well, mi familia and I have agreed that, until you are back on your feet completely, you will continue to accompany me... but, with your blessing, Memo will come along as well and he will do whatever you require of him, as punishment. If he refuses, I will call the police myself."

Ricardo blinks a few times, staring at him. "Your brother doing... my bidding?" he whispers, floored by the prospect.

Alberto sneers. "Si." He hesitates and leans forward, a sincere look passing across his face, wiping away the egotistical expression that usually resides there. "I wanted to make sure it was fine with you before I explained these terms to him. If you do not want to be so close to him for the duration of your recovery, I understand. Just know, I will make sure he will not touch you again, and if he does, there _will_ be dire consequences."

The ring announcer takes a deep breath, and another. He can't wrap his head around the thought, but Alberto looks so certain of this idea. Ricardo has never been able to say no to him, after all, so before he even has the idea fully spelled out in his own mind, he finds himself nodding slowly. "Si, al-alright, we can try it."

Del Rio's smile grows, the Mexican aristocrat clapping his hands together. "Perfecto!" He stands and collects his jacket and scarf, winding both around his body before turning back to Ricardo. "You rest, they say they will release you soon. I will be back later to help you, I must tell Memo and mi padre and tio right now our decision." He's at the door when he hesitates again, tilting his head questioningly at Ricardo. "It will be alright if I bring Memo along when I come, si? He will have to become accustomed to this, and have the details reiterated. I'd rather do it in your presence."

Ricardo is far from pleased at the prospect but he wearily nods, sinking back against the pillows. He knows that Alberto will protect him from his brother, had already gone to great lengths to do so. "Si," he murmurs. "Of course, El Patron, whatever you think is best."

When Alberto returns hours later, little brother in tow, Ricardo can do little but sit on the edge of the bed, idly filling out his release forms one handed while a sling supports his still aching arm. Every so often he glances over as Alberto's voice drones on, reiterating that, should Memo take one step out of line or attack Ricardo at all, neither Alberto, Dos Caras or Mil Mascaras will be able to protect him further... He can only imagine how Memo had looked the _first_ time he'd been told all of this, his eyes glinting dangerously as he glowers over at his brother while he sits rigidly in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Sensing Ricardo's eyes on him, he looks over, his sneer turning into pure hate as Ricardo shudders and looks away, hoping that Alberto knows what he's doing.

"Look at me," he snaps, both Ricardo and Memo looking up as one before the ring announcer realizes his intense glower is aimed at his little brother. "This nonsense will not be tolerated. Ricardo has never done anything to you, he has been a loyal employee and friend for years, and you will treat him as such. Comprehende?"

Memo mumbles a low _si_, glowering down at his hands. His expression only darkens when Alberto wanders over to help Ricardo fill out his papers, noticing how he's struggling with just one useable hand, holding them for him while he scribbles the rest of the answers in. "Gracias," he sighs once it's done, chancing a glance over at the still angry man just to find that he looks even more incensed. He swallows deeply, not sure how well the next while will go with them at Del Rio's home, but nothing is to be done for it so he waits and watches as Del Rio collects the papers, turning to his brother.

"Take these to the nurse," he orders him, his voice dark with warning. Memo, though growing more and more unhappy with the whole situation, takes the papers from him and leaves the room, the door snapping loudly behind him. Turning back to Ricardo, Alberto half-smiles, resting a hand on the nervous man's shoulder. "It will be alright, mi amigo. I will not let him harm you again."

As much as Ricardo wants to believe him, Memo is crafty and intelligent. He had gotten past Del Rio once and injured him in the first place, now with them all stuck in the ranch and on the road together for who-knows-how-long, well... It seems like the makings of a disaster. Even so, not wanting to disappoint Alberto, or hurt his feelings, he nods. "Si, of course, El Patron."

The trip back to the hotel is tense, quiet. Alberto is focusing on his driving and Ricardo is simply struggling to stay awake through the haze of pain medicine that Del Rio had pushed on him as soon as they'd filled his prescription. Memo is in the back seat and Ricardo can tell that Alberto is keeping a close eye on him through the rear view window, his hands so tight against the steering wheel that his knuckles have turned white within the first two minutes of the drive. His eyes finally growing too heavy to keep open, he closes them with a faint yawn, barely aware as the car pulls to a slow stop, warm hands shifting his position so no pressure is being placed on his bad arm.

"We'll be to our room soon," Alberto's voice murmurs into his ear. "Then you can rest properly." His lips twitch, eyes still refusing to open, as the touch drifts up to run through his messy hair before leaving completely, the car slowly easing back into motion shortly afterwards. Even in his half-conscious state, he can still feel Memo's hateful gaze upon them. It makes him shiver.

He is brought back to reality a short while later, Del Rio leaning by the passenger's side with a small smile on his lips. He blinks groggily at his employer and reaches out for him, wincing when the sling catches him, holding the injured limb in place. He flushes, having briefly forgotten that that side is unusable for now, correcting by holding out his other arm. Alberto's dark eyes are glimmering with sympathy as he helps him out of the car, Ricardo waking up slightly once he's standing, the cool evening air toying with his black locks and sending them all over the place.

He takes a deep breath, eyes unwillingly passing over to rest on Memo's stiff form nearby, his dark eyes glinting as he waits for them, weighed down by all of the bags, his own mixed in with his brother's and Ricardo's. The anger and hate pours off of him in waves and Ricardo shivers, not sure if agreeing to let him work alongside him and Alberto while he recovers was such a good idea after all. _Maybe... we could do something else..._ he thinks, but one look at Del Rio's face and he knows he can't back out- it's Alberto's brother, after all, and backing out of this agreement would leave precious few other options and more likely than not Memo would end up in jail or lose his career if he doesn't get his anger in check. So he swallows his misgivings and takes a hesitant step towards the hotel that will house them for the next while.

Memo is all but ignored, trudging along behind them, as Alberto supports Ricardo through the hotel lobby, glaring warningly at anyone lingering around and staring too long. Even the fans lurking nearby know better than to approach, quickly turning away when Del Rio's dark stare aims their way. As he tries to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and _not _tripping on thin air, all Ricardo can remember is how his employer had been equally as conscientious of his needs back when Sheamus had viciously Brogue Kicked him and injured his neck awhile back.

"Gracias," he murmurs tiredly once they arrive at the hotel room and Del Rio helps him to the bed, sitting him down against the plush mattress and waiting until he's sure that Ricardo can support himself with one hand before he kneels down and pulls his shoes off, only looking over his shoulder briefly to order Memo where to put their bags. He's still in the street clothes that he'd changed into at the hospital, but he doesn't really care to change into anything more comfortable as he shifts and squirms awkwardly under the bedding, eyes closing almost immediately as soon as he's cocooned by the blankets and pillows.

"Buenas Noches," Del Rio murmurs to him, Ricardo listening to the floor creaking as he walks away from the bed. "Memo," he hisses, the soft sound of the door squeaking as they go out into the hallway to talk without disturbing Ricardo's rest. He wants to listen, hear what they're going to say- argue about- but the pain killers are impressively strong and he can't keep his eyes open, much less cling to the little bit of awareness that's lingered since he'd gotten out of the car. He's out before the door clicks shut behind them, his good hand tangling around the bedding as sleep helps him escape the vague pain he still feels radiating from his shoulder down.

The next morning, he wakes up to find his arm throbbing anew, the pain incessant and hot like a toothache. Blinking sleepily, he grimaces and struggles to roll over, sit up one handed. He's just made it half-way when he looks up and finds Memo glaring across at him from the couch that he'd apparently slept on. To his later embarassment, Ricardo squeaks and scrambles backwards, trying to put more distance between them, even though the younger Del Rio brother isn't moving an inch, just watching him with a bitter smirk that makes his brother's angriest expression look tame in comparison. The surface beneath him gives way as he realizes with a new flood of fear that he's about to fall off of the bed, risk his surgically repaired arm, when strong hands appears under his shoulders, supporting him just in the nick of time.

He gasps and shudders, looking up to find Alberto supporting him, a warning glare fixed on his brother who quickly looks away, trying to seem innocent. "El Patron," Ricardo groans, disgusted at how hard he's trembling in his employer's grasp. "Lo siento, I..."

Ignoring the apology, the Mexican aristocrat helps him back onto the bed, waiting until he's settled once more on the mattress securely before turning to glare at his brother. "The bathroom is free," he tells him. "Go." As soon as the younger member of Alberto's family huffs off, bag in hand, Del Rio's attention turns back to Ricardo. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," Ricardo admits, taking a breath. "I was just... I don't know. Woke up and he was staring at me and I didn't see you anywhere." He flushes, ashamed even further by his weakness, dependence on his employer. "I... freaked out. Lo siento."

Alberto shakes his head, squeezing Ricardo's good shoulder. "I shouldn't have left the room until you were awake and aware of what was going on around you. I'm the one who's sorry." He sits down next to the younger man and sighs, staring at his hands for a moment before turning to gaze at his ring announcer. "Did I make a mistake?"

Ricardo looks confused, unused to his employer even thinking such things about himself, generally finding his own ideas infallible and perfect, even when they go wrong. "In what way?"

"Encouraging you to allow him to take over some of your duties while you recover, ensuring that you'll be in his presence throughout your recovery..." He shakes his head, staring at Ricardo with a sincerely sympathetic gaze. "If you fear him, if you think that he may try anything else to harm you... Just say the word, we'll work something else out-"

Desperately hiding just how tempting the offer sounds, the younger man shakes his head. "El Patron, wasn't it this or jail? I would not do that to your family, just because I woke up disoriented on the very first morning. It's going to be fine, I promise. I just need to adjust."

He hesitates, looking like he's about to say something, when the bathroom door opens and a still surly looking Memo ventures out, dark gaze passing from his brother to the ring announcer. Huffing, he continues on his way to get his things and Alberto takes a breath, watching as Ricardo stares at his hands until he's ducked back into the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. "If you're sure," he says doubtfully, knowing that Ricardo speaks the truth. Memo getting into more trouble would shatter his father, cause unneccessary strain on his whole family.

"I am, El Patron." He's still a little groggy from the medicine and uncertain what the plans for the day are anyway but he wants to prove that he'll be fine, so he frees himself from the clinging bedspread and sits on the edge of his bed for a moment before standing, Alberto nearing him in case he should falter. "I'm alright." Despite being a little mortified at not even being trusted to make it to the bathroom on his own, he's a little glad that his employer stays nearby as, once Memo leaves the bathroom, he goes to make himself presentable as well as he can one handed.

When he exits the room, Memo is gone and Alberto is settled on the edge of the bed, his every sense locked on the bathroom door despite the TV buzzing on nearby as some bland newscaster goes on about this and that. He smiles faintly and stands, moving aside so Ricardo can sit on his own bed peacefully. "How do you feel?"

"Alright." When Del Rio looks at him in disbelief, he winces. "Um. A little sore. But I'll be ok for tonight."

His employer's gaze remains locked on him and he stands as tall as he can without sending more shooting pains up his shoulder. "I suppose," he mumbles, unable to see any reason why Ricardo shouldn't accompany him as always. If anything, it would ensure that he could keep an eye on his brother, make sure Memo won't try anything further while Alberto's distracted.

"Gracias, El Patron." Ricardo resumes doing what he can one-handed, packing Del Rio's bag carefully until Memo returns a few minutes later with some food for all three of them, distastefully dropping a bag in front of Ricardo and almost sending it toppling over the side of the bed. Alberto happens to be close enough to catch it, however, and places it safely back in the younger man's hands before shooting a warning glance at his brother, who ignores him as he unwraps his own styrofoam container full of pancakes and sausages.

Not wanting to indulge his brother's mood any further, Del Rio remains where he's at on his bed and eats from there, relieved to find that Memo hadn't purposely messed up his or Ricardo's food orders. Visibly, anyhow. He glances pensively over at the younger man to find he's hesitantly picking at the food, possibly thinking along the same lines. He sighs and shifts forward, swapping their containers out and observes as Memo watches them quietly, not reacting in the slightest at the trade. _Well, that's something, I suppose,_ he thinks, digging his fork through the eggs and taking a bite. _Though he could be annoyed enough that _both_ were tampered with._ _Best not to think such things._

By the time they leave for the arena, not a word has been spoken between the three men, the awkward and tense silence grating at both Alberto and Ricardo's nerves. They take the front seats of Del Rio's expensive car of the week, Memo glowering at them quietly from the backseat after he finishes carefully placing their bags into the trunk under his brother's watchful eye. The ring announcer glances at his employer anxiously, Del Rio just smirking faintly at him before he pulls out of the parking spot with ease. "Relax, Ricardo."

"Si, El Patron." He almost expects Memo to do or say something about this but he doesn't, remaining completely silent and still in the back. With no conversation, no music, the ride to the arena seems to take a lifetime even though it really only takes a few minutes.

Once they're settled in Alberto's personal locker room, Del Rio sends Memo off to get food for them all. As soon as they're alone, he turns to look at his ring announcer, who is picking listlessly at his tux with one hand. "Are you sure you can handle this, Ricardo? If being around him while I'm busy competing is too much, I can-"

"No, no, El Patron, I'll be fine," the younger man insists, quickly lowering his hand to his lap to cease his anxious movements. "I swear. Don't worry about me."

"If you're sure," he mumbles as the door slowly opens, Memo walking quietly inside with three plates from catering. As he sets them nearby Alberto and Ricardo, he's watched closely until sitting back down with his back to his brother and the ring announcer. This seems to do little for Ricardo's tension as he does little but pick one-handed at the not-very-appetizing items slopped across his plate. Del Rio bristles. "Ricardo, stop." When the ring announcer looks up, startled, Del Rio stands and collects the plate, almost slapping it into his brother's face in his annoyance as he holds it out in front of him. "Get him _real_ food, now. Do not make me call padre."

Memo gapes up at him, turning only briefly to glare at Ricardo before turning back to him. "Hermano-"

"No, do not _hermano_ me and expect to get your way. The conditions of this were quite clear, you were to help where Ricardo cannot. Because of you, he only has one working arm. Do you understand that? He is on painkillers and antibiotics and needs rehab. At any time he could've looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to press charges, and I would've agreed with him. But no, he opted to protect the family name- _your_ family name!- and you cannot even get him decent looking food, _once?_" Even Memo looks unsettled by the extent of his brother's rage, quickly taking the plate from him and rushing to the door. Glancing back over at his antsy looking ring announcer, Del Rio sighs and joins him. "Do you want my food?" he offers, pointing to the much more carefully prepared food. "I can wait and have whatever Memo brings back for you, it is fine."

"No," he denies it softly. "I can wait. But you should eat, El Patron. It'll get cold..."

"Don't worry about that. I'll eat when you eat." His lips twitch when Ricardo looks down, surprised. "I hope that Memo will cease being a problem," he says after a moment, all humor fading from his expression when his ring announcer looks up at him. "I had such high hopes upon his arriving here, that the three of us would take this company by storm. But I cannot do that with him if I cannot trust him. Perhaps with time..." He trails off thoughtfully as Ricardo waits patiently to see if there's more to his thoughts. "Perhaps you can be a good influence on him."

Dark eyes wide with surprise, Ricardo simply sits and watches him until finally the door slips open and Memo re-enters, scowling even harder as he lays the new plate down in front of the ring announcer with no lack of venom. Realizing that his brother's dark gaze is locked on him once more, he quickly turns away and settles back in near his plate, ignoring them both as they eat in tense silence until it's time for Del Rio's match.

Another contest against Sin Cara, neither Ricardo nor Memo doubt that the older Mexican will walk out the victor, but still Sin Cara's highflying ridiculousness isn't anything to completely overlook- his demands for special lighting only exceeding confusion one can feel in the ring against him. Ricardo feels uncomfortable with having both enemies in and outside of the ring, but he can't do or say anything about it; if Del Rio had even an inkling of how much he hates all of this, there's a good chance what he'd been trying to keep from happening _would_ happen after all. He won't cause his employer or his family any shame, so he bites his lip, stands next to Memo, and tries not to freak out too much.

Despite his still lingering anger towards his brother, Ricardo, the situation and everything else, Memo somehow understands that a successful Alberto is a happy Alberto, is an Alberto less likely to snap at him. So at first opportunity he grabs Sin Cara's ankle and keeps the highflyer from landing an attack on Alberto, who is currently arguing the veracity of a two count vs a three count with the referee. Sin Cara, however, doesn't take this lightly and moves to the ropes, preparing to sling himself up and over them onto the man below, but Memo thinks quickly as well and grabs Ricardo, dragging the injured man in front of him as a shield.

"No, por favor!" he cries out, his good arm outstretched in a pleading motion as Sin Cara hesitates, examining the ring announcer with his one arm in a sling, unable to even properly brace himself against what the masked luchadore is considering. He pays for his brief moment of compassion as Alberto snaps off a disgustingly sharp enziguiri to the back of his skull, downing him immediately. The armbar that follows is almost a formality as Sin Cara taps quickly and rolls away. Immediately forgetting his opponent, Del Rio slips out of the ring and grabs Memo by the collar, almost lifting him off of his feet in his anger, eyes dark with menacing rage.

"Don't you ever!" he shakes his younger brother to punctuate his words, "_Ever_ put your hands on him again, do you understand me? Yes, Memo, I saw _everything. _What were you _thinking?_ He talks us out of arresting you, he allows you to work alongside him despite what you did to him, he has been nothing but patient and accommodating and you do_ this!_ How dare you disrespect him, how dare you disrespect _me?_"

Memo is struggling, a fearful look in his dark eyes, when Ricardo succeeds at collecting himself fully, pushing past the fright he'd just felt, and he lunges for the brothers, tries to separate them one handed. "El Patron!" he pleads. "This isn't worth it, por favor, por favor!"

"Back off, Ricardo, I have had it with his-!" Alberto glowers fiercely into his brother's face, his words dying away as Ricardo continues to cling to him desperately with his uninjured hand. "Do you see this, all you have done and he is _still_ trying to protect you. He is better than you ever will be." He roughly releases him and pushes him away before turning to Ricardo, grabbing him by the edges of his tux and pulling him closer, examining him desperately. "Are you alright?"

"Si, si, I'm ok." He's shaking and his arm hurts some from all of the tugging and rough handling, but worse than that is the look in his employer's eyes- the anger, the disappointment. He knows it's not aimed towards him but he also knows that Alberto takes his family very serious, holding them to the same high standards he does himself, and for his brother to have done this, again... It is why he'd gotten between them earlier, because if Del Rio had hurt his brother, it would've only made him feel that much worse. "I'm ok, El Patron."

Releasing him and smoothing his shirt out apologetically, Alberto looks over at Memo. "Get out. Now. I will decide what to do with you later."

As soon as he's gone, Ricardo breathes a little easier. "El Patron..."

"I just don't know what to do with him any longer, Ricardo. I do all I can to make him accountable for his actions, realize that there are consequences, and he just continues on and on..." He sighs heavily before casting a brooding glance around at all of the people frozen, watching them with dumb looks on their faces. Disgusted all the further with everything, Alberto rests a hand on Ricardo's good arm and leads him back up the ramp. "Let's get out of here, mi amigo." He doesn't want to face his brother, but he wants even less for the peasants around them to gape and gossip in his presence.

"Si," Ricardo agrees faintly, though he worries about once more being in Memo's presence. He knows Alberto will protect him, however, so he keeps quiet and tags along through the halls until they arrive at- the trainer's office. He blinks at it, not comprehending. "El Patron-"

"I just want to have you checked out," he tells him with a faint sigh. "Mi idiota hermanito was quite rough with you, and I just need to make sure no further damage has been done that will hinder your recovery. Indulge me a bit?"

Despite having had seen enough of doctors and trainers in just the last month to last him a lifetime, Ricardo reluctantly concedes, allowing Alberto to guide him into the room. As soon as he sits down, the trainer is there, asking questions and Alberto tells him the short version of what his brother had done. A minute later, the sling comes off and the examination begins as Ricardo tightens the fingers of his good hand around the thin sheet on the cot, trying to distance himself from the dull pain that the trainer's ministrations are causing.

Alberto distracts him with soft speech in Spanish, telling him about some UFC news that he'd read just before his match, eyes glinting in the overhead lights as they await the trainer's verdict and thankfully it doesn't take too long, the man satisfied enough to finish poking and prodding the still sensitive area and helping Ricardo to replace his sling a few minutes later. "Ice it," he says. "It seems a little inflamed but the surgerical repairs are fine, the bone is mending properly. Just try to take it easy, alright?" It's obvious to both men that he wants to say more but refrains, probably intimidated by Alberto and not wanting to risk insulting his brother, just in case. "If you have any more problems, come back in here but you should be alright." And he leaves it at that, exiting the room as brusquely as he'd entered.

"Gracias," Ricardo sighs to his back, glancing surretipously towards his employer. "Ay, El Patron-" When Alberto looks at him, Ricardo takes a deep breath, fretting with his good hand. "What- what are you going to do about Memo?"

The Mexican aristocrat sighs heavily. "I honestly have no idea, Ricardo. What _can_ I do with him? He is still my hermanito... I can't just abandon him, though I'm sorely tempted to by now." He stares down at his hands and shakes his head grimly. "What would you do, amigo?"

Ricardo takes a breath and shifts, trying not to wince too visibly when his arm protests even this slight movement, turning to face his employer. "El Patron, I can't and won't tell you what to do, but... no harm was done, yes? I'm alright, Sin Cara didn't harm me, no matter what Memo attempted. If, after this, he is still unwilling to cooperate, I'd suggest something else but... for now, do you really want to say or do something that causes your father to rethink the current arrangement?"

Alberto stares blankly ahead for so long that Ricardo thinks perhaps he does, too weary to continue trying to make things right for his brother, but finally he pinches his nose and shakes his head. "No, of course not. I am in such an impossible situation and Memo is not making it any better," he grimaces, the frustration just bleeding out of his tone. "I want to keep you safe while you recover, and I want to keep him out of jail, but if he keeps risking your well-being... I do not know what else he might be capable of," he admits. "If he moves on to harming you in public, the police will definitely get involved and then I will be unable to do much for him. I don't know what to do anymore..."

Uncertain what to say to make this easier for his employer, Ricardo hesitantly wraps his good arm around the older man's shoulders, trying to offer him some sort of comfort as they sit in silence. Finally Alberto stands and turns to the door. "Come, let's go and see what he's up to, before he somehow gets himself in even more trouble."

"Si, El Patron." Ricardo gingerly makes it to his feet and follows his employer out, Alberto pressing a hand to Ricardo's shoulder. He smiles slightly, glancing over at him.

They find Memo sitting in the locker room, peering down at his phone. When the door shuts with a loud click behind him, he looks up and peers at his brother, expression unreadable and voice equally as emotionless. "Padre hasn't called me yet."

"And he won't," Alberto says dully, glancing over at Ricardo as he sits across the room from Memo, not even looking over at him as he tries to sort through his things one handed. "You're getting _one_ more chance, hermanito. If you mess up _this_ time, I can't help you anymore. Ricardo and I have both been beyond accommodating to you, and we can't take much more of this blatant disrespect from you, especially when it harms his recovery."

Memo takes a breath but says nothing, carefully keeping his eyes averted from both Alberto and Ricardo as they prepare to leave the arena. The few times Ricardo does accidently catch his eye, his expression is decidedly blank, no anger or derision in his gaze but also no pleasure or relief either. The ring announcer wonders long into the night about this change, what it means.

The next few days pass slowly until Smackdown that Friday, Memo continuing with his silence and emotionless gaze. Ricardo nor Alberto know what exactly to make of it, the two men wondering if perhaps he'd come to some sort of revelation following Raw, but no matter what they say or do, Memo speaks at most a word or two, quietly carrying out the duties he's given as though he's decided to take a vow of silence through the rest of his punishment. Alberto seems somewhat relieved by this, though he notes Ricardo's growing discomfort towards the situation and pats the younger man on the arm once Memo has gone to get them food, smiling slightly at him. "It's alright, mi amigo. Relax."

Ricardo tries, he does, but Memo's moods are so mercurial, he's not sure what to think or do. Should this be the percursor to another of his violent mood swings, the ring announcer truly doesn't want to be on the other end of it, risk his health yet again. His tension only grows when Alberto leaves to take a shower, Ricardo's dark gaze flickering here and there as he waits, knowing that there's little chance of Alberto finishing up before Memo should return, which means... As though foretelling this, his thoughts are cut off when the locker room doors opens, Memo himself peering inside and looking back and forth for his brother. Ricardo swallows drily and forces out, "He's in the shower."

Memo says nothing to him, merely enters the rest of the way and begins placing plates of food from catering on the table, one settled close to where Ricardo is sitting, the other near where his brother usually sits, and he keeps ahold of the third, about to slip aside and eat in silence. And ordinarily Ricardo would be alright with that, except that something on Alberto's plate catches his eye. "Uh, um. Memo..." He hesitates, this the first time he'd actually addressed Alberto's brother since the attack, and definitely the first while they're alone. But it needs to be said, if things are to continue on as smoothly as they are. "El Patron..." He licks his lips anxiously. "He doesn't like that," he concludes, pointing to the pile of chicken casserole on the plate. "He says it is poorly made."

When he looks up, Memo is peering at him with annoyance, slowly placing his plate on the table as he stands and quietly collects the plate, walking with such tension that it's obvious he's almost tempted to snap. He's almost at the door when Ricardo finds the courage to speak again. "If they have... have lasagna, he... likes that," he finishes weakly, peering down at his own plate. As the door clicks shut behind the younger Del Rio brother, he releases a soft breath and closes his eyes. "Well, I guess that could've gone worse."

Memo returns with a fresh plate of food almost at the same time that Alberto exits the shower, towel drying his hair as he sits down before his plate of food. One glance at the lasagna waiting for him and his face brightens. "Ah. Bueno, at least they have made something worthwhile to eat this evening. Gracias, Memo."

He still says nothing but when Ricardo happens to catch him glancing his way, he thinks there's some appreciation in his gaze, though he can't bring himself to look long enough to determine if he's right, not wanting to risk raising his ire yet again.

The next day, Ricardo wakes up to Alberto sitting next to him on the bed, looking reluctant. "El Patron? Are you alright?" He can hear the shower running, which means Memo is in the bathroom, so they're alone for now. Working at sitting up with one hand, Alberto assists him until he's propped comfortably back against a pile of pillows placed against his headboard.

"Si," he says softly once that's done and they're sitting side by side. It reminds Ricardo of the hazy memories he has from immediately after the attack, but he says nothing, waiting for Alberto to continue speaking as it's obvious he has something on his mind. "I have media this morning, and they only have need of me. Will you and... Memo be alright here alone?" He frowns as Ricardo stares back at him, looking shocked, and shakes his head. "No, no, never mind. Perhaps... I can bring him with me, he can fetch coffee or... something..."

Ricardo swallows and watches as Del Rio ponders about how to find something for his brother to do while they're out but the ring announcer takes that decision from him, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "No, El Patron. I... I'll be fine here with him. Don't worry about it, that won't be neccessary."

Eyes narrowing, Alberto peers at him as if trying to weigh the sincerity behind his words with his gaze alone. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he whispers. "I think he's learned his lesson."

Still not seeming extremely thrilled with the prospect, Del Rio sighs. "If you need _anything,_ you call me. Right away. I will drop everything and be back here within moments, si?"

"Si, of course, El Patron. I don't think it'll be neccessary, however." As they sit and stare at each other, Ricardo tries to look calm while inside he's a torrent of emotions. _I hope he believes my words more than I do..._

Ten minutes later, Memo is out of the bathroom and Ricardo watches in bemusement as Alberto gives him a long list of things to do while he's gone. General things Ricardo would do while healthy, and a few not-so-general things that were obviously there just to occupy him (like calling the staff in both Florida and Mexico for detailed status reports, and checking in with Alberto's mechanic and...). The list even makes Ricardo's head spin, but Memo barely blinks as he writes it all down, that old lifeless look in his dark eyes as he finally finishes and looks up to find Alberto looking at him with a grimace. "Got that?"

"Si, Hermano," he intones dully. "This will be done by your return."

"Good," Alberto says faintly. One quick glance over at Ricardo, who nods at him, and he's gone, closing the door decisively behind him.

Neither Ricardo nor Memo say anything for awhile afterwards and finally the ring announcer slowly ambles into the bathroom to take a quick shower to get ready for the day. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, taking a deep, desperate breath before locking it, the click loud and echoing in the room only adding to his nerves. He honestly hates every aspect of having to spend the next couple of hours here, alone, with the man who'd broke his collarbone not even a month earlier, but he swallows it down and reminds himself that Alberto is only a phone call away if he needs him.

He takes his time as much as he dares, grimacing in pain as he slips out of the sling and closes his eyes, trying to relax underneath the warm spray of the hotel shower. Even while on pain medicine, there's still a dull ache digging at him under his skin and he wonders if it'll ever fully go away, or if it'll just be another thing he'll have to endure, get used to. As the water grows cooler, he becomes tired of standing for so long, and gingerly leaves the shower, determined not to slip on the slick tiles. Haphazardly toweling himself off one handed, he pulls his street clothes on- biting his lip desperately so as not to cry out as he shrugs his left arm into the sleeve of the button up shirt that he'd been stuck wearing since his injury.

Hair still dripping into his eyes, he lifts the sling and stares tiredly at it. He needs to put it back on too, but the shirt itself had left him almost dizzy from the pain and he reconsiders all of this not for the first time- perhaps he should've just stayed in his sleepwear until Alberto had had the time to assist him, or... He shakes his head. _No, no. I can barely stand Memo helping me while Alberto is watching. Doing it with no one to supervise seems like it's just asking for trouble._ Bad arm held protectively at his side, he reluctantly unlocks the door and slumps down on his bed, head lowered as he tries to catch his breath, figure out how to put the sling on and button his shirt up one handed, make himself presentable before Alberto returns.

He's still sitting there, almost ready to attempt all of this, when he hears footsteps approach him. When he finally looks up, Memo is standing before him, staring down at him with that now familiar expressionless look on his face. Neither say anything as Alberto's brother slowly reaches out and takes the sling from Ricardo, fitting it carefully around his arm and wrapping the strap around the side of his neck as he'd watched Alberto do every day since he'd attacked the ring announcer. Further flooring Ricardo, he then reaches out and begins buttoning his shirt up for him, the only sound in the whole room their breaths and the ticking of a clock. Not a word is spoken, they don't even look at each other once, and as soon as he's done, Memo returns to his corner of the room with the list of things left for him to do.

Ricardo swallows and shudders, not believing that that'd happened even as he looks down at the proof that it had. He's still sitting there, trying to wrap his head around it, when he realizes that Memo has gotten the iron and Alberto's many scarves out, preparing to smooth the wrinkles out of the many expensive articles of clothing. Most that Ricardo himself had found and ordered for his employer. He watches him out of the corner of his eye as he goes about it sloppily, obviously unaccustomed to using an iron. His grip is wrong, the clothing is sprawled out unevenly across the ironboard, and... He closes his eyes and gingerly makes it to his feet, moving to stand next to the couch. When Memo finally looks up at him, Ricardo bites his lip. "May I... offer some advice?" Memo only blinks and Ricardo tries again. "You're going to risk burning your brother's scarves if you iron them like that... please, let me help."

Still looking unimpressed, Memo stares at the pure white fabric stretching across his knees. And the pile of black and white scarves next to him. He shakes his head and closes his eyes before seemingly swallowing his pride and turning back to Ricardo. "How?"

Eyes brightening, Ricardo reaches out for the iron and waits patiently as Memo weighs all of this and finally comes to a decision, handing the item over to him. "You hold the scarf so it doesn't bunch up, and I'll iron it, ok?" Even one handed, Ricardo is deft at this and they slowly fall into a regular rhythm, Memo shifting the scarf along the board until it's ironed top to bottom- Ricardo carefully avoiding the delicate tassles on either end- and then folding it as Ricardo directs him before they move on to the next one. The job goes impressively quickly then and Memo _almost_ looks happy as he turns back to the list, finding only a couple of items left on it now. Ricardo looks as well and finds only the phone calls left, glancing at the clock. Alberto will probably be back soon and he doubts it's enough time for both calls to be made, unless... "Do you want me to take care of calling the mechanic?" he offers after a moment of thought, surprising both himself and Alberto's younger brother.

"I... yes, that's fine." As he takes his phone and goes out onto the balcony to confer with the staff at both the Mexican ranch and Florida home, Ricardo returns to his bed and dials the mechanic, quickly checking on the status of all of Alberto's cars. Everything satisfactory on all fronts, it's a very relieved Memo who crosses off the last two items on the list before turning to look at Ricardo. Clothes ironed, staff checked in on, the hotel room tidied up and ready to be checked out of so they could move on to where Raw will be held on Monday. "Gracias," he finally says.

Ricardo nods, surprised. "De nada." It's no apology- he's not holding his breath on that one, knowing how rarely Alberto has ever apologized, and isn't surprised it's the same for his younger brother- but it's still some acknowledgement of _something_ he'd done, so he accepts it calmly and moves on, barely blinking when Memo reports to Alberto upon his return and doesn't mention Ricardo's involvement in the afternoon's proceedings once.

When they arrive at the arena for Raw, Memo quietly carries their bags in while Ricardo accompanies Alberto to the match list for the show and they both stare at the scribbled notes on the board. Ricardo's face scrunches up in worry as Alberto stares at it in disdain. "El Patron..." he says doubtfully, hesitantly reaching out for him and snagging his sleeve.

"It will be fine, Ricardo," he responds, turning away to walk back to the locker room with his ring announcer by his side. "Don't worry." But it's difficult not to and when they all go to the ring, even Memo looks uncomfortable, his hands pressed tightly to his sides.

Ryback is in the ring waiting for them, looking hungrily over at his competition, and Ricardo swallows, feeling more and more anxious for his employer. When the bell rings and the match begins, it's back and forth for the first few minutes, Del Rio's harsh kicks and evasive maneuvers keep him away from the brutal man, but everything turns on a dime when he pauses after another of his flying enziguiris and sneaks a glance to the outside to check on Ricardo and Memo, giving Ryback just enough time to recover and, at his re-approach, grab him and sling him roughly into the turnbuckle, dazing him.

Both men on the outside flinch, Ricardo fretting one-handed, as Ryback follows it up with a vicious powerslam against the mat that leaves Alberto writhing and groaning, gripping his back in agony. Ricardo's used to being a distraction, risking his own well-being for his El Patron, but this time, when he leaps onto the ring apron and starts shouting at the intimidating man, he's not alone: Memo is next to him, also insulting Ryback in Spanish. He barely gets to react when Ryback is on them, roughly swiping at Memo who moves just in the knick of time and leaps back onto the floor... leaving Ricardo vulnerable to him. His eyes widen as he freezes, his balance already off due to only having full use of one arm, and somehow he doubts that Ryback would be as compassionate as Sin Cara had been a week ago.

Going another path, the large man grabs Ricardo by the collar with both hands and looks like he's about to sling him over the ropes into the ring, an angry sneer on his face, but the ring announcer feels something wrap around his waist, successfully stopping this. Before he has even a clue about what's going on, Alberto appears behind Ryback and snaps off a kick right behind his ear, causing him to release Ricardo who falls to the floor, the arms around his waist still supporting him and bracing him enough to keep him on his feet. He breathes deeply, shuddering as he blinks in confusion, realizing just how close he'd come to risking his arm- again.

"Are you alright?" Memo's voice asks, sounding rough and horrified in his ear. He turns around slowly and, yes, finds that it's Alberto's brother who'd first kept him from being swept over by Ryback and then from hitting the floor hard. "Ricardo?"

Further stupefied by what he thinks is Alberto's brother's first use of his name, the ring announcer nods slowly. "Si, si... thanks to you and El Patron, I'm ok." All further conversation ends as there's a rough clank of metal on flesh and both men look up to find Alberto standing over a downed Ryback, almost shaking in anger as he throws a steel chair to the mat, not looking the slightest bit bothered as he loses the match via DQ.

"You swine," he hisses. "Never touch mi hermanito _or_ mejor amigo, understand?" Another kick to his spine and he rolls out of the ring, staring at the two younger men. "You are both ok?" At their confirmation, he closes his eyes for a moment and walks up to them both, pulling them closer to him. It's a rare showing of affection that probably leaves the WWE Universe dumbfounded as he first grips their shoulders and peers deeply into their faces, double checking their claims, before wrapping an arm around both men. It had disturbed him to see the look on both of their faces as Ryback had gone after them, something in him snapping when he'd seen Memo protect Ricardo as he had. "Gracias, gracias."

In the end, that match had been the turning point for the weeks that follow. Though there had been rematches against Ryback following that, somehow they didn't seem as daunting as that first one. Ricardo's recovery had also progressed normally, the ring announcer soon beginning rehab. Memo, who had grown much less surly since that weekend, had offered to assist with the various, gentle exercises as directed by the specialist Alberto had found to his brother's pleasant surprise. He had been further relieved when Ricardo accepted, even shaking his head slowly when his employer had been about to speak up to warn his brother not to do anything to jeopardize his recovery. Trust had been slowly born between the two men and they might never be best friends in this lifetime, but Ricardo doesn't fear him any longer.

One day, they're halfway through the exercises, Memo allowing Ricardo a moment to catch his breath, when Alberto's little brother speaks up. "Ricardo? Hermano?"

"Si?" both men ask at the same time, smiling afterwards. Alberto puts his newspaper down and stares over at the couch that the two are settled in at, Ricardo's sheet of exercises between them. "What is it, hermanito?"

He swallows and turns to face first his brother, then Ricardo, in turn. "I wanted to explain why I... did what I did." Ricardo's eyes widen in surprise as Alberto, sensing the gravity of this moment, stands from his bed and joins them, leaning against the armrest behind his ring announcer so Memo can see both of them as he talks. "All I ever heard about was how loyal Ricardo was, how he was the best ring announcer in the world, and I suppose... it ate at me that you were perfectly happy traveling around the world with him while I was stuck first just trying to get a place in the WWE, and then in developmentals in Florida." His eyes are dark, full of some hidden pain that steals the breath from his brother as he listens, shaking his head in disbelief. "All I could think was it should be _me_ by your side, not some... employee."

Memo's gaze flickers to Ricardo as _he_ begins to look wounded and he shakes his head, feeling even worse. "But once I arrived here, I realized my assumptions were wrong. He was more than just an employee. You honestly saw him as a friend, your closest friend. But that only made it worse, because even when I began accompanying you to the ring, I still felt like the odd-man-out, like I was a piece that wasn't needed."

Alberto chokes at this and slips off of the armrest to sit next to his brother, looping an arm around him. "You honestly felt like that, hermanito? Never! While you were trying to get noticed by WWE officials, I was working right alongside you, talking up your abilities to them and convincing them that you would be a valuable asset to the company. I knew just how badly you wanted to try to make a name for yourself here as well, and I would've done anything to see that happen. Ricardo is my best friend, si, but you're my brother. Having you both by my side in this business makes me very happy, I hope you've realized that since."

"Si, si," he whispers, eyes bright with happiness as finally he realizes just how badly he had been wanted here by his brother the whole time. But his guilt returns tenfold as he also realizes that that means everything he'd put Ricardo through had been for absolutely nothing. "Lo siento," he says, his gaze turning to the ring announcer. "For everything. For... treating you so poorly, and trying to sabotage your work... and hurting you so grieviously. I wasn't thinking straight at the time. I hadn't really... thought much of what I had put you through until you began helping me learn how to correctly do the things mi hermano needed done." Neither Memo or Ricardo react when Alberto looks suspiciously at them both, the older man rolling his eyes at them with a small, almost amused huff when neither bother explaining what Memo meant by that. "I was a jealous fool and I hope you will forgive me."

Ricardo smiles faintly, flexing his left hand as he considers Memo's words. "It was an unfortunate misunderstanding," he finally says. "I forgave you long ago." And it's strange, but it's true: somewhere between catering and ironing and the Ryback match, he and Memo had begun to work together and their past issues had stopped mattering _as_ much. Now that Ricardo knows the whole story behind Memo's actions, he finds that he understands, even sympathizes with the little brother so desperate for his big brother's approval and attention that he'd acted out in very bad ways when he felt he wasn't getting what he'd wanted.

Memo releases a relieved breath, his eyes gleaming. "Gracias, mi amigo."


End file.
